


Broken Lines

by lilithduvare



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Agent Stiles, BAMF Stiles, Dead Sheriff Stilinski, F/M, Human Derek Hale, M/M, Minor Character Death, Older Stiles, Other, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, Younger Derek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-04-30 23:35:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5183954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilithduvare/pseuds/lilithduvare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Stiles looked at the woman who used to be his mother dead in the eyes, his blood sitting frozen in his veins from terror and heartbreak. She was still beautiful, even with her husband’s blood covering her mouth and fingers, matching the color of her glowing, inhuman irises, but she wasn’t Stiles’ mother. This monster, who wore that achingly familiar smile, crouching over the mangled and barely recognizable body of Stiles’ father could never be his mother. </i>
</p>
<p>--<br/>Stiles is turned into a werewolf by his own supposedly dead mother and has to spend the next three years being tortured and terrorized under the Alpha Pack's tender care. But he doesn't break and in the end he makes his escape. Only to get recruited by the American Alpha Council which eventually leads him to cross path with the Hales' only human child, Derek in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a wip story I started writing some time ago because I saw this gifset on Tumblr about Claudia turning up as a werewolf in Stiles life again. I hope you'll like it. For additional notes and warnings check the end notes.
> 
> Also, I decided to name Stiles Shpetim, which I found means "salvation".

**_Chapter 1_ **

Stiles looked down at the broken corpse of the woman who used to be his mother. The bloody gap where her throat used to be looked so stark and vibrant compared to the ghostly color of her skin. Yet it was her vacant red eyes that were fading back into the painfully familiar brown shade Stiles adored when he was a kid that captivated his attention. That color was the proof that it was over. It was finally over, but instead of the expected relief of being free, Stiles felt nothing but cold emptiness over the knowledge that, after almost three years, he managed to avenge his father, at last. He felt hollow and lost, being alone in the world without direction or use for the buzzing rush of energy that was the biggest proof of his revenge; the power of an Alpha.

It was almost comical how history had the tendency to repeat itself. Stiles’ mother had left them, not trusting him and his father enough to tell them the truth about herself. She had chosen her Alpha and the lies of promised protection and greatness, leaving behind nothing but some blood soaked rags and emotional devastation. Then out of nowhere, she had the gall to come back and finish the job she had started when Stiles was nothing but a hyperactive brat with pure adoration for his mother and pathetic naivety for thinking she had hung the sun and the moon.

Stiles remembered every damned moment of the day when his mother forced her way back into his tattered life, murdering her husband like he was a disposable tool just to get what she wanted.

_Stiles looked at the woman who used to be his mother dead in the eyes, his blood sitting frozen in his veins from terror and heartbreak. She was still beautiful, even with her husband’s blood covering her mouth and fingers, matching the color of her glowing, inhuman irises, but she wasn’t Stiles’ mother. This monster, who wore that achingly familiar smile, crouching over the mangled and barely recognizable body of Stiles’ father could never be his mother._

_She stood up, holding  her arms out in mock surrender when Stiles took a step back, as if she thought she could fool him with her innocent act and whatever lie that was about to leave her mouth. Stiles shook his head, hating his shaking limbs and the burn of tears that blurred his sight._

_“Oh, sweetie, don’t cry,” the thing in his mother’s body said, using her sweet, soothing voice to placate Stiles. “Mommy is here now.”_

_“D-don’t come any closer!” Stiles snapped, his voice high and panicked as he tried to scurry out of the way of those bloodied fingers to no avail._

_“Sweetie, it’s me,” she cooed, but her hand was lighting fast as she grabbed Stiles’ chin, smearing his dad’s already cooling but still fresh blood onto his skin, causing Stiles’ stomach to roll violently and making him gag with the need to throw up. “We finally can be together again. Just you and me. Like a family.”_

_Stiles couldn’t bear looking at the woman any longer, but he refused to submit and give in to the crazy bitch that murdered his father without an ounce of remorse. He bared his teeth, ignoring the way his knees tried to give out under him, and raised a trembling hand to pry those disgusting fingers away from his person. He would rather die than let her do whatever she planned to do with him._

_“No! Get away from me!” he screamed, wrenching away from the woman, his breath catching in his lungs from the pain that shot through his entire body when instead of human nails, deadly looking claws sank into his skin, shedding blood in their wake._

_“Stop this nonsense, Shpetim! We don’t have time for tantrums and hysterics.” The sound of his real name, struck down his spine like a whip. The pain of his wound felt like nothing compared to the agony that flared up in his heart, filling it with the poison of betrayal and old memories of a loving family and his smiling mother._

_The flames of his tears overpowered his eyes, spilling droplets of liquid fire down his cheeks. It’d been over five years since he had heard his name – the name his mother had given him in honor of her late father – but hearing it now was not a wish come true. It was a curse, a slap to the face, and he wanted nothing more than to get away from the horrifying beast that was pressing against his body with nothing, but the backpack he was still holding in front of him like a shield with one arm, keeping them apart. This monster had no right to say his name, to tell him what he was and wasn’t allowed to do. Because she wasn’t his mother._

_“My mother is dead,” Stiles spat, his bitterness enhanced by the pathetic hiccup that blurred his words. “And I’m not afraid of you!”_

_“You shouldn’t lie to your mother, Shpetim,” she tutted, grabbing Stiles’ chin once again to dig her claws into his still bleeding wounds. “Especially when she can hear the blip in your heartbeat.”_

_“I-I don’t care! You’re not my mother!” Stiles swallowed the bile burning the back of his throat, but couldn’t suppress the pitiful whine that was wrenched from his mouth when the monster’s grip tightened on his jaw. “And there is nothing that could change my mind.”_

_In answer, she huffed a long-suffering breath, her eyes flashing with intent as she forced Stiles’ head to the side, revealing his neck and the throbbing vein that did nothing to support his false bravado. “Your bravery and stubbornness is admirable,” she whispered, using her left hand to card through Stiles’ short hair. “You’re going to make the perfect Beta, and everything is going to be fine, you’ll see.”_

_Stiles would have sworn that his heart stopped at those words, his ever helpful brain offering the perfect answer to his unasked question as to what the creature in front of him could be. “Werewolf,” he gasped, panic eating at his muscles and turning his limbs into lead. “Oh my God, you’re a werewolf.”_

_“My baby boy,” the monster in his mother’s body hummed fondly, “you were always so bright. We’re going to be unstoppable.”_

_“N-no,” Stiles stammered, unashamed of the tears that were now flowing down his face and the sheer terror that seized his body against the touch of the mythical beast in front of him. “Please, don’t–” his plea was cut off by the werewolf’s forefinger that she pressed against Stiles’ lips._

_“This is a gift, sweetie,” she said, her gaze sliding to the side and filling with accusation and derision. “Your father was too weak and stupid to understand this, but you’re such a clever boy. You will understand the greatness that comes with the bite.”_

_“You killed him.” Stiles had already known that, but saying it out loud made it final and irreversible. His pain and fear turned into blind, ice cold hatred the moment the bitch’s lips curled upwards with pride. “You f-fucking killed my father!” he snarled, trying to bite at the finger still pressed against his lips._

_The werewolf snatched it back with a scowl, showing off her elongated fangs. “It couldn’t be helped, Shpetim. Your father was being irrational and even tried to shoot me! I offered him the ultimate bond and he shot at me!” she snapped, clearly outraged. “You have to understand, I had no choice!”_

_It took everything in Stiles not to say something to that. He wanted to tell her that no one would want to become a monster like her who let her family believe she was dead for years, arranging her own murder but leaving behind no body. It wasn’t even the whole werewolf thing that made Stiles hate her more than anything in the world. No, it was the selfishness and complete disregard she had shown towards Stiles and his father’s feelings. In Stiles’ eyes she was dead, just as dead as his father lying on the kitchen floor not five feet from them._

_He looked at the monster his loving mother had become and felt nothing, but utter hopelessness. She tried to rationalize killing her husband, the very man she said she loved countless times, and was about to turn Stiles into the same, soulless monster she was. Except, Stiles refused to be like her. He refused to let her continue this insane power trip, to use others to her whims like they were puppets, however. She needed to be stopped, and it seemed there was no one who was ready to do the job._

_“Will you kill me too, if I say no?” Stiles asked, gritting his teeth to force back the overwhelming wave of emotions that threatened to engulf him. He had to be strong and act like the man his dad wanted him to become one day, and it didn’t matter that he was just an almost fourteen-year-old kid. He needed to be brave for his dad._

_“Of course not, sweetie,” the monster answered with a wolfish smile. “Given some time, you’ll understand that I just want what’s the best for you.”_

_It should have calmed Stiles down, knowing he wouldn’t be killed that day, but it didn’t. It only spiked his rage and desire to kill the wolf in his mother’s skin. However, even through the hazy mist of fear and anger, he realized he wasn’t ready to take that step. He was just a weak, useless human teenager with stick-like arms and no coordination whatsoever. He was hyperactive and had problems with concentrating, but he was patient when needed, and for his father he would gather every drop of his patience. He would wait and play along, exploiting the wolf’s weaknesses against her, then strike when she expected it the least._

_“I’m never forgiving you for this,” he gritted out, drawing sick pleasure from the flicker of doubt and disappointment in her eyes, before she recovered her mask._

_“We’re going to be happy, sweetie. So happy together.” It was more of a threat than anything else, and before Stiles could have said anything else the beast’s eyes flashed at him once again, then Stiles was screaming from the unbearable pain that swallowed every one of his nerves, centralized in his neck where the beast’s fangs ripped into his flesh robbing him of his humanity…_

And now they came to a full circle. Stiles was standing in the woods with his fingers and mouth smeared with the blood of his mother, while she was lying by his feet in shredded, bloodied rags with her throat torn open not unlike Stiles’ father three years ago. Her death left Stiles with no real purpose in life; he had no family, no pack, no one to rely on. Still, Stiles knew he had to go on. He still had some growing to do, to become the man his father wanted him to be. It was his anchor, the determination not to succumb to the feral madness that took his family from him.

He knelt down next to his mother’s cooling body, looking at the marred skin beneath her blind, glassy eyes that might have formed a dark bruise if she had survived their short and incredibly unfair fight. She was set in her ways, following werewolf tradition by honoring clean battles that involved nothing but claws and raw strength, and she was foolish enough to believe that Stiles was the same. It was her beliefs that blinded her to the extent of Stiles’ desire to avenge his father and lost childhood. She had never seen the wolfsbane laced knife coming, embedding into her savage heart.

Stiles’ gaze slid down to the blood soaked knife lying next to his mother’s body, idling on her carmine drenched ribs for a second. His nose twitched at the memory of the stench of wolfsbane burning his nose, urging him to snarl and show his fangs, as he pulverized the pretty blue petals. He remembered the desperation of his wolf and the crawling of his skin even though he had worn leather gloves to prevent direct contact with the dangerous flower.

He knew he had basically betrayed his own race, using the methods of their enemy to eliminate his target, but, frankly, he didn’t give a shit. Maybe, just maybe, if werewolves used their brains instead of their claws to fight against the hunters after their hide, they would have better survival rates than they did. Then again, the thought of werewolves like that bitch Kali or his mother’s late Alpha, Deucalion with guns was a terrifying concept that was best left forgotten.

With a sigh, he turned his attention back to his mother, half-hoping that the reality of her death would be enough for him to feel something besides loathing and emptiness. The yearning child locked away in his heart wished he could find an ounce of regret or forgiveness for her, at least in her death. However, the hatred still simmering within his chest didn’t let him do more than reach out with a trembling hand and close her lifeless eyes.

“Maybe I’m really my mother’s son, after all,” he whispered, his lips curling into a bitter smile.

He looked around himself, noting the watchful silence of the forest. He should bury his mother; it would be the honorable thing, not just as her son but as her killer too, yet he found himself standing up and stepping away from her body without a second thought. It was the perfect end for her; left out to be devoured by wild animals and forgotten by the world, just like Stiles’ father had been. She would be found eventually. The trail running nearby was well-worn and frequently used by hikers, but she would forever remain just another faceless victim of the wilderness.

Stiles pocketed his knife, careful not to touch the blade as he wrapped it into the tatters of his t-shirt, then without another glance, he turned on his heels and walked back to their car that had been parked not far from the road. He had a new life to build and a promise to keep.

**[Broken Lines]**

Stiles wasn’t really surprised to find Ennis and Kali sitting in the living room when he walked into the apartment his mother had rented for the two of them, The blatant disbelief painting Ennis’ face was almost expected; the man always believed Stiles to be too weak to kill anyone, lest his own mother and Alpha. Kali on the other hand only raised an eyebrow, her dark eyes glittering with smug satisfaction. She was silently goading him, but was smart enough to depend on Ennis’ brashness and stupidity to test the waters.

“You’re catching flies, Ennis,” Stiles commented, breaking the heavy silence. “It’s most unbecoming of a strong _Beta,_ don’t you think?”

“You think you’re so clever now?” Ennis snapped, his eyes flashing yellow in his momentary lapse of control. “But you’re nothing more than a filthy little coward who needs carefully constructed plans to kill his own mother.”

Rage crackled in Stiles’ bones at those words, and before he knew what he was doing, he had Ennis by his throat, sinking his elongated claws into his soft, vulnerable flesh. “Careful, Ennis, your jealousy is showing,” he hissed into the other’s ear, drowning out the sound of Ennis’ pathetic rasps and gurgles. “This is your first warning, there won’t be a second one. And then you might just learn how much of a coward I really am.”

He tossed the man to the floor, his claws slashing his throat open without killing him. Ennis coughed and gasped for air, his hand clutching the gaping wound in his neck. His glowing yellow eyes were wide with fear and hatred, promising retribution even as both of them knew it was an empty threat. Ennis was a sadist who basked in others’ pain and terror, but essentially, he was nothing but a disgusting coward who would be nothing without Kali’s power.

Stiles looked at his bloody fingers, watching as his claws slowly shrank back into ordinary human nails, before he turned to Kali and raised an eyebrow at her. Kali shrugged, apparently disinterested in her lover’s predicament. She might have been a vicious bitch, but she was fierce fighter and a very good tactician, something Stiles respected in her. They weren’t close and Kali despised Claudia, Stiles’ mother, but they had an understanding that worked for them.

“What are we going to do now?” she asked, her tone too casual to ring true.

“We? We’re doing nothing,” Stiles replied with a cold sneer. “I might be forced to carry Deucalion’s legacy, but I don’t care about playing king amongst wolves. I don’t care what you do as long as you don’t kill people or gain too much attention.”

“You…. don’t deserve De-Deucalion’s power,” Ennis rasped, blood tickling down his chin. His wound wasn’t healing, and the sight alone almost brought a smile on Stiles’ lips. The bastard deserved what he got.

“Ennis,” Kali sniped, glaring at her Beta and ignoring his betrayed stare.

“You can’t–“

“Shut up, before I shut you up myself!” Kali snarled, her eyes flashing red in anger and Ennis mouth snapped shut. “Know your place.”

“That’s right, know your place, Ennis.” Stiles smirked at the still crouching man, enjoying his suffering. “What did you expect? That the three of us will take over the supernatural world? Don’t be a bigger idiot than you are. We have nothing, but a crazed maniac’s broken dreams and our claws. Ethan and Aidan are dead. Our esteemed leader is dead. Claudia is dead. Heck, all of our emissaries and Betas are dead too thanks to Deucalion’s great plan and fucked up power trip. We’re not a pack.”

“You’re right,” Kali agreed. “We will be safer on our own, but you’ll need to create your own pack before your wolf devours you and turns you into something much worse than Deucalion ever was.” 

“Yeah, not the future I had imagined when I was a kid,” Stiles said, his jaw clenching as memories of the last three years assaulted the forefront of his mind. “I guess I’ll need an emissary too.”

“Morell should be alive,” was Kali’s answer, and Stiles could hear the bitterness in her voice. Stiles didn’t know much about Julia and her death, but the scowl on Ennis’ face the few times her name was dropped – usually by Stiles’ mother – suggested that there was more between her and Kali than simple emissary-Alpha bond. However, Stiles was not self-destructive enough to outright ask Kali, especially not after some of the fights he had to witness between her and Claudia.

“No.” He shook his head.

He didn’t need that sicko’s cast-off shaman, no matter how powerful she might have been. He would find his own advisor, just like he would create his own pack, but it was neither here nor there at the moment. His wolf was restless, its energy prowling under his skin and urging him to shift, to bite, to claim. Except there was no one to claim in the tidy little mockery of a home he had been living in for the last sixteen months. Kali had her own tiny pack with her single Beta, but Stiles was sure that it wouldn’t take long before another member would be added to her pack. 

He glanced down at her stomach, but averted his gaze before Kali could have noticed his knowing look. She wasn’t pregnant yet, but Stiles’ flickering, new senses could feel her wolf’s yearning for a cub. Stiles knew that she was studying him, trying to figure out his next move, but she could search and analyze to her heart’s content, because Stiles’ plans were his own and his alone. For a second, he contemplated leaving some contact information with her, but discarded the idea almost immediately. If she wanted to find him, she would find a way to do so, and he would do the same.

In the end, he left her and Ennis in the living room and went to his own room to pack his things without another word. He didn’t care about the place or the furniture Claudia had spent so much time picking out. This was not his home and never would be, no matter how hard his twisted mother had tried to act like everything was just fine. Nothing was fine, and the evidence of that was left behind like a fleeting afterthought lying broken and dead in the forest.

“You can keep the place, if you want. Rent is paid for another four months or so,” Stiles muttered as he threw his clothes into his slightly tattered duffel bag, knowing that Kali would hear him.

She didn’t question his decision and Stiles was grateful for her rare show of compassion. He was still waiting for the crash, the regret or anything that would help him believe that there was some humanity left in his blackened soul, but looking around in the impersonal room that was only marked as his by his scent in the air and on the bed seemed counterproductive. There was no anger left in him, the last of it had disappeared in Ennis’ flowing blood, but instead of peace, apathy took its place.

An old picture of his father and mother stood on his nightstand, his dad’s blue eyes shining with devotion and pure love for Claudia, his high school sweetheart. They married young full of youthful spirit and endless optimism, that typical happy couple that everybody found so sickeningly adorable. They had managed to live in happiness for ten years before tragedy struck them like a lightning bolt with a twisted sense of humor. And wasn’t it just hilarious that the Fates decided that tearing their lives into tiny, bloody shreds once wasn’t enough? No, they had led them to the edge of the fucking world and then shoved them into the dark, unescapable abyss of the supernatural.

Stiles’ father didn’t survive the fall, getting caught on the first set of deadly fangs that belonged to the very woman he once loved with his whole heart. If Stiles hadn’t seen and felt the damage his mother’s elaborate little disappearance act had caused, he would have blamed Deucalion and his crazy delusions for taking his life away, because inherently, it was his fault that Claudia was turned and ceased being the woman Stiles and his father used to know and love. But Stiles was the one who had to watch as his father deteriorated before his very eyes with each passing day Claudia spent planning her last and most painful strike against them.

She had admitted being the one coming up with planting the unrecognizably mauled body in the woods a few miles from where her car had been initially found by a patrolling officer. She had tried to feed Stiles with her lies, claiming regret and fear of judgment she had never felt, not even for a second.

Stiles swallowed around the heavy stone wedged in his throat, silently commanding his eyes to burn with unshed tears, yet they remained dry and unsympathetic. He avenged his father’s death with single-minded determination, and probably turned into a bigger monster than his mother ever was in the process. It wasn’t even a question that his father would be disappointed if he saw Stiles at that moment. Still, there wasn’t a thing Stiles would have changed in his plans and the way he had dealt with Claudia, because he knew that his father would have done the same. Or not, because his dad hadn’t had a single cunning bone in his body, and had always been too frank and too honest to pull off the same act Stiles had with his mother.

“We never deserved your love,” he whispered to the smiling face of his father before he put the framed picture on the top of his clothes.

He zipped the bag closed then threw it over his shoulder, ready to leave. He had no idea what to do or where to go, but if nothing else, he still had some time to figure it out before his wolf’s urges became too demanding. He knew he needed to form his own pack. He had seen what isolation did to werewolves as well as the ruthlessness hunters handled rogue wolves, and he didn’t want that. If nothing else, he was sick of death and never saw the thrill in murder like Deucalion, Claudia or even Kali did.

With a last sweeping glace, he left the room and walked back to the living room that was empty bar for the rapidly cooling puddle of Ennis’ blood. He didn’t say goodbye, just walked out on the nightmare that had been the last three years of his life.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles just can't get a rest from Alpha business it seems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really grateful for the comments, kudos and bookmarks and subscriptions you guys. I hope you will like the new chapter, too and cross your fingers for me to be able to uphold the every Monday update plan. I'm not promising anything, but I will do my best to publish a chapter weekly. Of course your input is always welcome! 
> 
> The story is unbeta'd so any errors you catch are mine.

Getting recruited by another bunch of Alphas after the disaster that was Deucalion’s infamous Alpha Pack was understandably not high on Stiles’ bucket list. If he didn’t get to see another power-crazed, delusional Alpha werewolf in his life, it would be too soon, but the Fates really seemed to hate him, because it wasn’t even seven months after acquiring his new position in the food chain when he found an unfamiliar, but obviously non-human guy sitting on his doormat just as he got back from his morning run.

Stiles’ first thought was that the man was a drunk hobo who unfortunately passed out on Stiles’ doorstep after unsuccessfully trying to break in. Not that he would have found anything worth stealing; a bunch of trinkets Stiles picked up from the places he visited during the last seven months of aimless wandering and his old, well-worn clothes certainly weren’t worth shit. The place itself was a bit run down, too, with peeling plaster and broken shutters, but at least it had a homey feel to it.

Except, there were no empty bottles or lock-picking equipment beside the man, not to mention, he definitely didn’t smell homeless. No, he smelled like crackling lightning, wildness and really expensive cologne. He smelled like home and Stiles hated it. A growl bubbled up in his throat as his control slipped through his clenched fingers and his vision filled with red for a moment. It was happening more and more often as his new power poisoned his mind with each passing day he spent as a lone Alpha.

Midnight blue eyes peaked out from under a fan of dark lashes and a slow, arrogant smile spread over the rough, tanned face, but the man didn’t give any other sign of being awake or feeling threatened by Stiles’ anger. He seemed awfully comfortable and lazy as he stretched his limbs, like someone who already knew every strength and weakness of his opponent and was sure of his own victory, which only managed to piss Stiles off even more.

“You chose the wrong place to build your den, buddy,” he gritted out as he stalked to his door, almost surprised by his ability to form words around his grinding fangs. “There is a cozy homeless shelter a few streets down.”

“Sounds great,” the man replied, his grin widening. “Though, snacking on skin and bones is really not amongst my favorite things.”

“You could always dig a hole with your paws and hide the bones in it,” Stiles deadpanned automatically, and while his anger didn’t recede entirely, his fangs morphed back into normal, human teeth.

At least the man had some sense of humor, which seemed to be a rare treat amongst werewolves. It didn’t mean the other was less dangerous or a smaller threat, but there was a slight chance that he wouldn’t try to rip Stiles’ throat out in broad daylight. Even his movements seemed to be careful and placating, which should have been set Stiles on edge by principle, yet it managed to calm his nerves even more. He watched as the man got up and brushed the dust from Stiles’ doormat off his artificially ripped jeans with well-practiced movements, showing off his ridiculous muscles and toned legs in the process.

After taking a better look at him, Stiles couldn’t believe he thought this guy could be one of those sometimes quite violent hobos who squatted in the rundown warehouses not far from Stiles’ home. The man was well-dressed and Stiles would have betted all his meagre possessions that those loafers alone cost more than his entire house. Which cemented his hypothesis that he was not another stray Alpha trying to pick a bone with him, but probably the Alpha of one of the well-established packs of the city. Which could turn into more than a little bit of a problem in Miami with its shady underground dealings and terrifying pack policies.

He inwardly groaned at the thought of getting mixed up with the shifter mafia of all things, but before he could have opened his mouth to say something probably mortally offending, the man stepped out of his way with his definitely predatory smile still in place.

“Your screaming thoughts are giving me a headache,” he said casually, gesturing at the door. “And your eyes are still glowing red, so could you either put them away or let us in?”

“The moment you stop broadcasting your ridiculous power levels, I’m sure my eyes will change back too,” Stiles sniped back, folding his arms over his chest. His wolf was trying to break through his skin to match the energy rolling off the man in heavy waves, refusing to back down even though he had no chance against the older and more experienced Alpha.

“That would make things too easy and boring. So you’ll just have to let us in your house then, because neither of us wants anyone to see those pretty little flames in your eyes, do we?” It was a classic threat, and Stiles didn’t even need to look at the man to know the silently promised consequences his supposed indiscretion would bring down on his head. It was maddening to be once again backed into a corner, but the man was right; he couldn’t afford to expose the existence of werewolves to his nosy neighbors.

He unlocked the door and gestured the man to enter before him, because there was no chance in hell that he would turn his back to the strange Alpha. From Ennis and the Devil Twins he would have expected some childish gesture like bared fangs or a threatening growl, but this guy just kept on smiling and walked into Stiles’ house like it was his own home. He didn’t even pause to look around, just went straight to the small living room and plopped down on the comfy leather sofa that came with the house.

“You wouldn’t have some beer on you for a fellow Alpha, would you?” the man asked, raisin one of his eyebrows.

“Underage teenager trying to stay under the radar here,” Stiles replied, choosing to remain standing. “Not to mention, you could at least tell me your name before you demand such high-maintenance shit from me.”

“Too bad,” the man sighed with resignation in his tone, but his blue eyes sparked with amusement. “Next time I’ll just bring the booze myself.”

“Now wait a sec, aren’t you going a little too fast? Our first date has barely started and you’re already planning the next one? Do I look so easy to you?” It was surprisingly easy to fall back on his old habit to make a joke out of nerve-racking situations even after years of silence and lethargy, and it was even more surprising that the Alpha in front of him just held up the pretenses instead of kicking his ass like Deucalion or Claudia had done whenever his mouth ran away from him.

“I think I like you, kid,” the guy said with a wolfish grin and extended his tanned, perfectly human hand. “I’m Travis Marshall, the Alpha of the Scythe Creek pack in Boston and one of the founding members of the American Alpha Council, or AAC, as most weres call it.”

Stiles opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. His brain froze and his thoughts slipped on the icy slopes, eluding him. There was an entire council of Alphas in the States and one of the members was sitting across from him, still expecting him to shake his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. After all the shit he had been put through, he shouldn’t have been surprised by this new information, yet he was rendered speechless.

“Or not. Obviously you haven’t been informed about it.”

“Haven’t been running in circles that really cared about authority figures,” Stiles answered after a few moments of shocked silence. “So what do you guys do?”

“We keep unruly wolves in line and bring justice to those who break our laws.”

“Suspiciously sounds a lot like you’re a bunch of superhero wannabes. Are you Nick Fury?”

“Nah, I like to believe I’m less of a pretentious asshole.” 

“So no super-spy recruiting going on?”

“No super-spy recruiting, promise. But I’m here to offer you a job.”

Stiles gnawed on his lower lip as he watched the man sitting across from him. Marshall seemed like an okay guy, but after the train wreck that had been his mother, Stiles was wary to trust anyone, especially if they came with too-good-to-be-true promises.

“I’m a packless Alpha on the verge of snapping. Excuse me for doubting you would want someone like me on your team,” he said, not taking is eyes off Marshall’s equally alert face.

“You give yourself too little credit, Stilinski,” Marshall replied with a small smirk. “And know frighteningly little about werewolf customs and packs.”

“Yeah, well you guys at your fancy council don’t seem to be too good at your jobs either, considering you let Deucalion and his merry band of crazies not only kill a human authority figure, but turn an underage kid without his consent, then go on a rampage all over the States,” Stiles shot back with a sneer.

“Claudia Stilinski’s remains were found and dealt with by one of our teams.”

“Are you looking for a thanks? Then you have to look some more, dude, because I don’t give a single fuck about what happens to that monster’s bits.”

“I was going to say, nice knife work, but yeah a thank you wouldn’t have gone amiss either.” Marshall shrugged nonchalantly. “Deucalion was more off his rockers than I thought, if he had thought that biting someone with frontotemporal dementia could ever be a good idea.”

“Yeah, well, we all know that Deucalion was an animal that should have been put down upon his birth, but what can you do?” Stiles grinned without the slightest hint of humor on his face. “Oh wait, you’re the fucking werewolf FBI and CIA rolled into one, you could have done something about it.”

From the flash of Marshall’s eyes, Stiles knew he was crossing a line that might cause him a lot of pain, but he didn’t really care. From what he had learned during his stay with Deucalion’s infamous Alpha Pack, he knew that Deucalion had been killing off his betas for years before he decided to bite Claudia, yet the AAC had done nothing about it. Heck, Ennis alone was to blame for the death of several humans, one of them the girlfriend of Talia Hale’s son not even a year ago, but no one had done anything to stop the madness that had destroyed Stiles’ life. So maybe he could be excused for not showing much respect for an organization that only showed up when all the blood was long cold on the battlefield.

“I understand your anger, Stilinski, but the last few years have been hell on the AAC thanks to the wreckage Deaucalion left behind,” Marshall said, his face set in hard lines. “You think hiding the existence of the supernatural from humans while the Alpha Pack was littering the streets with mauled corpses was a walk in the park? Or settling all the territory disputes that broke out because every pack suddenly felt the need to expand their powers to defend themselves against Deucalion?”

“You could have solved all your problem by getting rid of the Alpha Pack.”

“Your very mother only managed to kill Deucalion by waiting nearly ten years to gain his trust enough to slip some heavy sedatives into his food and then tear his throat out and then burn his body.”

“What?” That little tidbit of information blindsided Stiles.

Admittedly, he didn’t know much about how Claudia had managed to kill Deucalion, but to learn that she had basically poisoned him before she had taken his power felt like a kick to the chest. Then again, it was just another lie in the huge pile of wretched shit Claudia had tried to shove down Stiles’ throat during their three years together. She had been so desperate to act like the perfect mother, or at least whatever twisted image she had had in her head about it, and she hadn’t been afraid to use violence to get her way.

_“Sweetie, breakfast is on the table!” The off-sweetness of that once loved voice grated on Stiles’ nerves, but after five months, two weeks and four days spent in that monster’s lovely care, he knew that not reacting to her ridiculous acts of being a doting mother would result in brutal retribution._

_“I’m coming,” he rasped, his vocal cords still raw from all the screams that were ripped from his throat during last night’s torturing session Claudia ironically dubbed as endurance and pain tolerance enhancement training._

_She was smiling at him, her teeth gleaming in the bright sunlight streaming through the open window of the small kitchenette of the apartment. She was a truly beautiful woman; ageless and radiant with wide brown eyes and a shade darker hair than the closely shorn stubble on Stiles’ head. Yet looking at her smile and shining, constantly red-hazed eyes, all Stiles could remember was his father’s broken corpse and Claudia’s teeth covered in Stiles’ own blood. Not even the fashionable dress and the carefully manicured nails could make him forget that under the mask of the perfect mother and the up and coming PR manager of Universal Studios, Claudia was a savage beast._

_“Sit down and eat, sweetie.” Despite the kindly worded form, it was an order and not a request. “I even have time to have some coffee with you before I have to leave.”_

_“I’m not hungry.” The moment the words left his mouth, he knew he made a huge mistake. Claudia’s expression smoothed out like the surface of a crystal clear lake before the storm and lost every resemblance of humanity without actually calling forth the power of her wolf. Stiles run his tongue over his cracked parchment-like lips, scrambling for words to appease the terrifying creature in front of him. “On a second thought, I’m ravenous, mom, thank you for making all these yummies for me.”_

_“Good boy,” she said, stroking the stubble on his head. Her nails dug into his scalp painfully, but Stiles refused to show any sign of discomfort. It would only make her become more sadistic. “I made your favorite. French toast with lots of bacon on the side.”_

_Stiles bared his teeth in mockery of a smile and sat down, picking up the knife and fork set next to his plate. Maple syrup gleamed on the golden bread slices and crispy bacon, but the moment he cut into the bread the disgusting, burning stench of wolfsbane hit his nose, making him want to curl up and claw at his own face. Claudia was trying to poison him, probably as another test to see what he would do._

_“Come one, eat up, sweetie. It’s delicious, I can assure you.”_

_“I’m sure it is.” Stiles stared at the Alpha across from him, watching her gleaming red-brown eyes flick down to his plate eagerly. He knew there was no way to win against Claudia, but not eating the poisoned food and having his ass handed to him was still better than eating that shit and having his ass handed to him while poisoned. “But I think something didn’t sit well with me from last night, because I feel nauseous. So I’ll just eat this later.”_

_“I don’t think so Shpetim. You’ll eat your breakfast now and then thank me, like a good son should.”_

_“Sorry, but I’d rather take my chances with your claws while not vomiting black goo, thanks,” Stiles retorts, knowing his sass would sure earn him Claudia’s wrath._

_And he was right. It didn’t take Claudia long before the plate smashed on the floor and the table was turned over. Claudia had her fingers around Stiles’ throat, her claws lethal and digging deep enough to draw blood. Yet Stiles’ refused to back down. He bared his fangs and slashed at Claudia’s hand with his own claws, causing her to roar at him, but let go._

_Stiles didn’t expect her to backhand him strong enough to make him crash against the wall, but that was what happened anyway. A second later she was on him, snarling and biting a piece out of Stiles shoulder, while slashing her claws down on his stomach nearly gutting him in the process. Stiles screamed in pain and hated his nature for giving up and being so weak against the monster above him._

_She smirked, eyes still glowing crimson, and got off him, patting him on the cheek. “Next time, you’ll do as I say, won’t you, sweetie?” she asked, her voice dripping with artificial honey._

_Stiles spat the blood pooling into his mouth to the floor than flopped back down. He had to get up and clean the mess Claudia left behind up, before she came back from work. And buy a new breakfast table. Stiles had to learn the hard way that the sight blood smears and broken furniture did not fit into Claudia Stilinski’s image of family. Unfortunately, it did not mean that she was against causing wreckage around her and to her ‘beloved’ son’s body._

Stiles refused to touch the faint scars still marring his skin even after three years. He stared at Marshall, lips pressed into a thin line, daring the man to comment on his sudden lack of wit. Marshall’s grimace was half-apologetic as he looked back at Stiles almost like he wanted to pat him on the shoulder, but was unsure about the reception of such action.

“So let’s skip the part where I scramble for a few acceptably comforting words about you losing your role model and get on with you answering my offer,” Marshall said with a roughish grin, making Stiles roll his eyes.

“You suck at this recruiting shit, I hope you know that,” Stiles shot back, getting fed up with the Alpha. “Also, you haven’t said what kind of job you’re offering.”

“Field work.”

“I’m seventeen. No school records for the last three years. Identity? Forged. This house? Under Claudia’s name. Who is dead. What do you expect?”

“I highly doubt Claudia didn’t make sure you were properly educated.”

“She was a heinous bitch who had this delusion about creating the perfect family, what do you think?” Stiles snapped, folding his arms in front of his chest. “Still, I was locked up in whatever hole we were hiding in from hunters, and later in the apartment she rented in Hollywood, while she played the role of a business woman. I have no relevant skills.”

“On the contrary. You’re cunning, reliable, smart and great at blending in despite having ADHD on the top of the furriness. What our organization needs is a set of fresh pair of eyes,” Marshall argued, his tone confident as if he knew Stiles very well. Which wasn’t impossible.

“Or this is just an elaborate plan to kill me off before I become unstable.”

“You’d be already dead, if that was what we wanted. You could be a useful member of our team, Stilinski. And you could have the pack your wolf craves so much.”

“Oh yeah, a pack full of Alphas.”

Marshall frowned, while his nostrils flared. His aura was getting darker, but he made an effort to not show his growing frustration. “This is not some B rated cop show where I resort to threats if you say no. You refuse the offer, I’m out of your hair.”

“But you’ll be back with a team of STRIKE wolves the moment I go berserk. And until then you’ll have me under close watch,” Stiles said.

He ran a hand over his hair tiredly. It’s not like he had anything to lose. If he could endure Claudia’s one person horror show, he could get used to being ordered around by a bunch of assholes who thought they were the aplhaest Alphas out there. And if he got some sort of stability and some money out of it? Why the hell not? He stared at Marshall, looking for any sign of deception, but the man’s expression remained carefully blank. His midnight blue eyes were alert and shone with the arrogance of someone who perfectly knew he already won.

“If I accept your offer, I want full training and full access to your database system,” Stiles bargained, not backing down from Marshall’s steady gaze.

“Only agents with the highest clearance level have full access to our entire database system,” Marshall replied, raising one of his eyebrows.

“I’m sure you can work something out. After all you founded the AAC,” Stiles said with a smirk that was met by Marshall’s sharp smile that was all teeth and savageness.

“Anyone said you have a smart mouth on that pretty face?”

“Hitting on me, won’t make me back down,” Stiles retorted snarkily, but he felt his face heat up from the comment.

“Never thought it would, but a guy gotta try,” Marshall said with a shrug. “Though have to admit, you pink up prettily.”

“Fuck off,” Stiles snapped and blushed even more. Sometimes he hated being a teenager and a werewolf, and not just because jerking off while having claws was hazardous as hell even with superfast healing. “So deal?”

Marshall pursed his lips, his look assessing, before he extended his hand to Stiles. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“No promises,” Stiles said cheekily as he clasped the man’s hand with his own. “After all, I have a reputation to uphold.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to join me on [Tumblr](http://queenofthewips.tumblr.com) where I built a digital shrine to the wonders that are Stucky, Sterek, Johnlock and 00Q.

**Author's Note:**

> There is a lot of gore and cruelty in the first chapter. Also, as you could see in the tags the Sheriff dies very early in the story and Stiles kills his mother when he's 17. There is also a mentioning of attempted poisoning, torture and death threats. 
> 
> Comments are always welcome and feel free to join me on Tumblr (I'm queenofthewips)


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